


2 AM Phone Calls

by aries_taurus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6499531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting a call at 2 a.m. isn’t something that fazes Danny, hasn’t for a very long time; pretty much ever since he got the title Detective attached to his name. No; the shocker of it all is one Lieutenant Catherine Rollins calling him at 2 a.m. to have him come and collect an apparently quite drunk Lieutenant-Commander Steven J. McGarrett at the Golden Palm, one of the island’s seediest, most disreputable dive bars.</p><p>Set after 3.18</p>
            </blockquote>





	2 AM Phone Calls

**Author's Note:**

> So, this has been brewing since 3.18 and since I've had 3 days off after a procedure I did some cache clearing and managed to finish this.
> 
> It never sat well with me; Steve's quiet anger at his mother, at Catherine, at being betrayed, lied to... So I wrote this.

* * *

 

  
_The highway coming up slowly_  
White lines nobody knows  
I suffocate, like I was born to break  
Say goodnight to all of the hardship  
I tried, but couldn’t escape for Heaven’s sake  
Can you see my face through your eyes

 _Sometimes you’re pushed to the limit_  
And it’s hard to go on living this life  
But be grateful for every minute  
When it all goes slipping away  
When it all keeps slipping away  
Seize the day  
Seize the day

 Lyrics from Seize the day - Jonas and the Massive Attraction

 

* * *

 

Getting a call at 2 a.m. isn’t something that fazes Danny, hasn’t for a very long time; pretty much ever since he got the title Detective attached to his name. No; the shocker of it all is one Lieutenant Catherine Rollins calling him at 2 a.m. to have him come and collect an apparently quite drunk Lieutenant-Commander Steven J. McGarrett at the Golden Palm, one of the island’s seediest, most disreputable dive bars, a place Danny _knows_ Steve doesn’t, wouldn’t, frequent.

Well, at least, usually.

He asks Cath what’s wrong and she doesn’t answer, just begs him to take care of Steve and he would swear she’s crying but she hangs up before he can pry.

So he gets dressed, pulling on his rarely worn pair of jeans and an old, faded Bon Jovi T-shirt. He pockets his badge and puts on his ankle holster, his backup tucked safely inside because you don’t go into a crap part of town, to a shithole bar, alone, flashing a badge. That’s itching for a fight but god only knows what McGarrett’s gotten himself into so he’s not taking a single chance; he’s going in armed.

He parks the Camaro a few blocks away, under a street lamp, praying it’s still there and intact when he comes back. The state may be picking up the tab on his insurance but he’d rather not go through another “talk” with the insurance adjustor or the Governor’s budget analyst. Not after last year’s smashed windshields and bullet holes, busted shocks, worn out brakes and threadbare tires. Still, this isn’t Jersey.

He walks into the seedy club, his swagger and Jersey-bad-boy-tough-guy attitude in full display, all but daring the local hoodlums to mess with him. He’s short, sure, but that doesn’t mean he can’t play the intimidation game. The tactic works; no one dares come up to him and he makes a fast way across the joint to the bar where McGarrett’s sitting, a tumbler and a bottle of Jack in front of him. He’s leaning against the counter, a hand curled around the glass, his knuckles white with the strength of his grip. Danny can tell he’s pretty far gone just from the way he’s listing off to one side just a little and how he’s slumped forward, a foot hanging off the barstool.

He slips onto the next seat and signals the barkeep, asks for a Longboard as he throws a twenty on the bar. He takes a sip and slams the bottle down hard on the counter before giving his partner a sideways look.

“So,” he says with forced lightness, “what prompted this excursion into the bowels of Honolulu?”

“Y’know why I like you, Danny?” McGarrett says, turning quickly to face him and almost losing his balance. He’s wasted, Danny thinks, more so than he originally thought; the slur in his words is thicker than Danny ever remembers hearing, his eyes are bloodshot and glazed and his movements are loose and uncoordinated.

“I have many likeable qualities, Steven,” Danny says evenly, putting a hand on Steve’s arm, just in case the tall goof has the idea to slide off the stool and topple to the floor.

“Y’never lie t’ me. S’why. Y’don’t care ‘bout what I think. Y’just say it. Honest. I like that ‘bout you,” Steve says, punctuating every word with a finger poking Danny’s chest. “You gimme shit n’all that but you never hide ‘nything, even if s’not somethin’ I wanna hear or tha’ll y’know, make me sad or… pissed. You jus… Y’know?”

Danny can only nod his head and wonder who decided to screw Steve over this time. It pisses him off, more than he can ever put into words. ‘ _When is it ever enough?’_ is all he can think.

“I know. You deserve honesty, Steve, everyone does.”

“So why the _fuck_ does she keep lyin’ t’me huh?” Steve practically shouts, getting to his feet, arms spread out wide, bottle of whisky clutched in one hand, glass in the other. He just sways there for a second as the entire bar goes still and quiet.

“I dunno, buddy but I think it’s time you and I hit the road, okay?” Danny says, standing as well, keeping a wary eye on the crowd around them, all eyes sizing them up. They’ve been in the paper plenty and he’s sure a lot of lowlifes around them know who they are and he’s not sure if that’s good or bad, if it’ll keep them at bay or if it’s like chumming the waters for shark fishing.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re drunk off your gourd and this isn’t the best part of town for two cops to be hanging around in,” he says, his voice low as he slings an arm under Steve’s shoulder. “We good?” he asks the barkeep over his shoulder.

The man nods and they make their way out of the club easily enough, despite McGarrett’s faltering steps. Once they reach the cool night air, Danny stops and leans him against a wall before prying the whisky out of his hand. The bottle’s half gone which explains his partner’s state and Danny’s loathe throwing out the rest but he still prefers that over being mugged for it. Instead of pouring it out, he sets it on the sidewalk and hauls McGarrett’s arm over his shoulders again.

“C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

“Nno.”

“No?”

“Don’ wanna g’home.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t… stan’ it. Her. Not N’ymore.”

“Who, your mother? She’s the one you were taking about?”

“Sh… Sh’ says… sh’cares but… all sh does is _lie t’me_. Sh thinks I can’t _tell_?” he growls, outraged. “Sh thinnk I’m _s. sstupid?_  Why, Danny, why does sh’ keep _lying_ t’me?” he asks, going from outraged to distraught to hurt. It hurts Danny to see his friend in such pain and not be able to fix it.

“I dunno, Steve. I truly don’t. I wish I did.” He wants to ask what happened this time, what’s new, what changed but he doesn’t, not when Steve’s this vulnerable, this upset, not to mention so drunk he can’t walk straight.

“I jus….”

“S’okay, buddy,” he soothes, somehow managing to get Steve into the Camaro’s passenger side without too much damage. “You’re coming to mine tonight.”

Steve mumbles something he can’t understand as he shuts the door, jogging towards the passenger side. He starts the engine and heads straight back to his apartment, anger towards Doris warring with concern for his partner as he drives.

Steve’s sprawled in the passenger seat, head leaning against the car’s window, unmoving but he’s not asleep. Danny can see the streetlight reflected on his eyes but Steve stays quiet, still, like a bronze statue frozen by torment. Danny’s seen him at his lowest a couple times but he’s not sure he’s seen him look quite so depressed but then again he’s not sure if it’s just the booze talking.

McGarrett loves to have a few drinks, unwind, laugh… He’s surprisingly good at letting loose, something that’s always surprised Danny. He’d expected a SEAL like Steve to be always in control never letting his guard down but then again, if you don’t, you’ll end up either losing your shit or burning out. On the other hand, Steve’s a goof with enough issues to keep a good therapist busy for the rest of his life.

But thought all that, Steve is _always_ in control. He drinks, often, but never to excess. Never. Or at least never in any situation Danny’s been aware of, until now; always in control like his life depends on it which, Danny admits, it probably did for a hell of a long time.

He doesn’t really know what to expect, doesn’t know what kind of drunk McGarrett is. He’s relaxed and fun when he’s had a few but this is uncharted territory. Danny knows enough guys that are pleasant after a few beers but turn into violent, aggressive SOB’s when drunk. He doesn’t think Steve’s that kind of a guy but the man’s a trained killer of the most effective sort with shit in his head Danny doesn’t even want to imagine.

He’s not stupid. He may give Steve grief over the classified wall he puts up but he’s not sure he really wants to know what’s behind there, not sure he wants to know just exactly what Steve’s capable of, what he’s seen, what he’s done, all in the name of God and Country.

He’s seen hints of a coldness in Steve’s eyes that scares him at times but his partner keeps it tightly _controlled_ , always. Still, he worries; worries that one day, the past, compounded by one betrayal after another, one lie after another will break his partner down and release all those demons and that Steve will be lost to it all.

Because he’s seen it happen too; too much, too often, more than he ever wants to admit or remember. He’s seen cops, colleagues, _friends_ , eat their guns and he was there to pick up the pieces more times than he wants to ever count. He can only pray the demons he carries never get the better of Steve McGarrett. They won’t, if he has anything to say or do about it.

He pulls into his parking space and prays to God Steve can still walk; he doesn’t want to sleep in his car because there is no way he’s leaving his partner alone tonight. He gets out of the car and rounds the hood, shaking his head. The big Neanderthal hasn’t moved.

He knocks on the window and the unfocused eyes blink, pause for a second and move up to his.

“C’mon. We’re here.”

He sees Steve breathe deep and struggle to sit up, burying his head in his hands. He opens the car door and grabs on to Steve’s arm, hauling him out of the low slung car, glad the man’s still with it enough to help.

The trek up the stairs is a shambling, stumbling affair and by the end of it, both of them are winded and laughing which Danny takes as a good sign.

He dumps Steve on his pull-out and points a finger at his chest.

“You stay there. I’m getting you some water.”

“Yessir,” Steve mumbles giving him a sloppy salute.

Danny snorts and heads to the kitchen, letting the tap run as he gets a couple ice cubes from the freezer. He fills the tallest glass in his cupboard and drops in the ice before heading back to his living room and his pullout bed. His partner’s sitting there, slumped forward and unmoving and it just breaks his heart to see someone he cares about in pain.

He doesn’t know if he should say something or not though. Steve’s the one always pushing him to talk about his problems but with Steve, it’s different; he’s his friend but he doesn’t know just where the limits lie, where he’s allowed to push and where the wall of secrets begins and just how much of that wall is holding the man up. He’s afraid if he knocks it down too fast or hits a critical part of it, he’ll bring down the whole of Steve McGarrett’s carefully built and ever important control. Not that he thinks Steve is that fragile but he doesn’t think he’s as solid as everyone seems to think either, including Steve himself.

He’s never been afraid to use his mouth though.

“She lied to you again I take it and clearly, it’s eating you up. Why don’t you just confront her? Huh? You’re the one that’s paying the price,” he says, handing Steve a tall glass of water.

Steve lifts his head and looks at him, eyes surprisingly sharp and clear for the amount he’s had to drink.

“Sh’s my mother, Da’ny. I…” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’ wanna lose ‘er ‘gain.”

Danny shuts his eyes tightly and grits his teeth. Doesn’t that just break his freaking heart? He wants to hug the crap out of the man, ease his pain but he doesn’t know how. He shakes his head and puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing hard. Steve breaks off the gaze, his chin falling to his chest.

“She doesn’t deserve a son like you. Doesn’t deserve _you_ ,” he says, saying it and knowing Steve won’t remember it in the morning.

Steve stays still and silent, eyes lost over the water in his hand.

“Drink up,” Danny orders and Steve does. He takes the empty glass and parks it on the small table by the wall, ice cubes rattling in the bottom.

“Okay. Now, boots off. You need sleep.”

Steve nods slowly, takes off his boots and lets himself drop backward onto the mattress of the pull out, the springs creaking in protest. It only takes a few minutes for him to start snoring softly. Danny smiles wanly and throws a blanket over him before taking his own shoes off and lying down, curling on his side, his back to McGarrett’s. Morning will come soon enough, he thinks, as he drifts off.

\-----

He wakes up in slow stages and it takes him a while to realize he has no idea where he is. The bed’s springs are digging into his hip and ribs and the smell and feel of the blanket his face is buried in is wrong but somehow familiar. His head aches mercilessly and his mouth tastes and feels like something died in it. He stays still, if tense, trying to get his bearings, trying to remember something, anything on how he ended up here.

“I know you’re awake so stop playing possum.”

The voice triggers something and he gasps, pushing up on his elbows and instantly regretting it as the pain in his head explodes and multiplies tenfold, growing like a living beast. The world swims around him and his innards flop heavily. He swallows hard.

The dive bar. Drinking. Danny.

He groans and lets himself drop to the mattress again, shoving his face into the scratchy blanket.

“Your mattress sucks,” he mutters through the fabric.

“And you snore when you’re drunk.”

He grumbles and slowly turns to his back, draping an arm over his eyes. God, he hates hangovers.

“There’s water and ibuprofen on the side table.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, sitting up slowly. He drinks half the water in one go before he swallows the pills, willing the whole thing to stay put. He finishes the glass and puts a hand on the table as he struggles to his feet.

“I gotta pee,” he mutters. He stays there a bit, waiting for the dizziness to pass before he shuffles toward the bathroom. Danny says something about a towel and he grunts some sort of agreement before the door clicks shut. He lets his clothes fall to the floor and braces a hand against the wall as he takes a leak so he doesn’t fall over, his depth perception and equilibrium still screwed up from last night’s abuses. _God_ he hates hangovers. With a passion.

He turns on the shower, wincing at the noise. He lets the water warm a bit and steps under the spray, letting it pound over his head, letting it wash away the sweat and general feeling of wretchedness out of his skin even if the sound of the pounding water aggravates his headache. He’s about to grab the shampoo when it dawns on him that Danny hasn’t said anything, hasn’t tried to shout his ear off about getting wasted in dump in the bad part of town without backup which makes him wonder what the hell he did that he can’t remember. One thing he clearly doesn’t is calling his partner, or how Danny got him here. He wonders for a moment how much exactly he had to drink because he doesn’t even remember drinking enough to black out before, other than that one time just before Plebe summer started. He drinks, a lot sometimes but he doesn’t lose control. He doesn’t; but he did this time and he doesn’t know how and that scares him a little.

The loud banging on the door startles him out of his thoughts and makes him jump. The world tilts and he has to brace himself on both walls not to fall.

“Yo! You crack your skull in there or something? Drown in the shower?”

“I’m fine, Danny,” he calls out, eyes closed, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass. Christ, how much exactly did he have to drink? “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Hustle up. Coffee’s ready.”

He finishes up as quickly as he can and dries off, smiling when he sees the spare clothes he keeps in the Camaro’s trunk sitting on the counter. He’s really off his game if he didn’t hear Danny come in, despite the shower running. He dresses and makes his way to Danny’s tiny kitchen, the rich scent of coffee making his stomach grumble. He’s not sure if that’s good or bad. It feels like he’s walking on the rolling deck of a ship but he knows it’s just in his head. Still, his stomach’s not sure it agrees.

“Morning sunshine,” Danny says, way too brightly, a huge smile plastered on his face, like seeing him hung over is the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

“Shut up,” he says, dropping gracelessly on a stool. He puts his elbows on the counter and buries his head in his hands.

“No. This? This is funny. Pure gold in fact. SuperSEAL getting shitfaced and hung over. I gotta say, I was pretty sure I’d be spending some time making sure you didn’t drown in my toilet,” Danny practically crows, pushing a mug full of hot coffee between his arms.

He swallows heavily and turns his head away from the steaming cup, groaning pitifully. “Shut. Up.”

“C’mon. Drink it while I shower. I’m taking you out for breakfast. Eggs and liver sausage at Ukule diner. On me.”

“Ugh… You really _do_ want me to be sick.”

“Hangover breakfast babe. Coffee and greasy food to soak up the leftover booze and fuel up the body. Everybody knows that.”

He chooses not to respond, grumbling into his coffee instead. He takes a sip of the rich brew Danny always has on hand and closes his eyes, the headache pulsing heavily with the bright sun shining through the windows. He thinks being dead or, at least, horizontal in a cool dark cellar somewhere would be better than this.

“You’re serious. You don’t believe me.”

“Danny…”

“Seriously. No I wanna know. What’s the patented McGarrett hangover cure?”

He sighs. “Danny, let it go.”

Danny’s silent for a beat and Steve thinks maybe he’s in the clear. But the way Danny looks at him in that calculating way and tilts his head before sucking in a breath to speak says otherwise.

“You don’t have one.”

He rolls his eyes, lets his head fall back and shakes his head. “No. I don’t.”

“See, I’m not that surprised. You, you’re not… you don’t drink like this. You don’t… lose control like that.” Danny’s tone loses some of its glee when he says that, becoming speculative and maybe a little... puzzled.

He doesn’t understand and for once, Steve can explain although he doesn’t really want to. He gives a harsh chuckle before he speaks. Some of the hard realities of life as a Special Operator are not something he really wants to shed light on. He thinks people don’t need to know the sacrifices he made because he doesn’t want sympathy for those choices because that’s what they are; choices he made willingly, knowing the cost. He isn’t _looking_ for sympathy, doesn’t want or need it. He chose the life and all that it entails but Danny wants and seems to need to know, to understand and after last night, Steve owes him that much.

“When you’re a SEAL, you’re always on call, even on leave. You never know when that phone’ll ring. For years, _years,_ I had to be ready to go, ready to be deployed, within 12 hours.  So no. I don’t. I can’t. Couldn’t,” he amends.

“Wow. That… kinda sucks, buddy.”

“Price of serving my country,” Steve says with a soft smile, opening his eyes to look at Danny. ‘ _One I don’t mind paying,_ ’ he doesn’t add. Danny turns toward him and walks back to the counter, sitting on the stool beside him.

“So, how’d you get to where you got when I got there? I mean, if it’s not something you do?”

He sighs, leaning forward, putting his arms on the counter but he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t want to; doesn’t know if he can, if he even has that answer.

Well.

That’s not true. He knows how. What he doesn’t know is _why_.

“I’m worried about you, Steve. I mean… how much crap can a man take, before…”

“Before what, Danny?”

“Before he breaks, Steven, okay?” Danny snaps loudly. He suddenly reins himself back in, dropping his chin to his chest and exhales noisily though his nose before looking back up at him.

“I know you’re tough as they come but I also know how deeply you feel things. I mean, when it’s personal with you, it’s like those super-efficient SEAL walls you have don’t work or something, like that part of you just isn’t… working, when your emotions are involved.”

“Yeah well, I’m… not used to… dealing with… _this_.”

“What ‘this’? Family and the drama that comes with?”

“I was sixteen the last time I really had a family. I just… In my memory, my mom’s just my mom, this kinda cool, kinda tough teacher that’s, you know, just that! Making sure I do my homework, driving me to football practice, getting on my case about picking up my socks in the living room and yelling at me to leave Mary alone or yelling at Mare to stay out of my stuff… Not this… two-faced lying _stranger_ wearing my mother’s face,” he spits, his tone dripping disdain and something that feels like grief.

“But then she so… so like I remember it’s just killing me. And every time I think about back then, all I can remember is the pain; how much it hurt to lose her. And now I have her back and it’s like losing her all over again but she’s still standing there, looking at me and smiling. I don’t… I can’t… I don’t know how to deal with that. How to process it. Where to put it.”

“Where to put it? It what? What it?”

“The way I feel.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at Danny simply because he doesn’t want to see the pity he knows is there, in his eyes.

“You don’t need to put it anywhere, Steve. How you feel is how you feel. Don’t try to make it anything else. Just… put it out there, like you do any other emotion you have. I sure as hell know when you’re happy or pissed off. Why would need to hide being hurt? Cause it makes you weak? Is that what you think? Huh? Is that it? You think Chin’s weak because he’s hurting over losing is wife?”

“What? No!”

“So why the hell would you think we’d fault you for having trouble dealing with having your mother back from the dead after 20 years, not to mention we both know she’s lying to you about why she’s really here? You really think we wouldn’t understand? That *I* wouldn’t?”

Steve shakes his head, not knowing what to say, not even sure if it’s really the issue at hand. Is it about showing weakness or just… he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to talk about what he’s learned, about the confrontation, the microfiche, not yet anyways. He knows why Danny’s such a good investigator; he makes you talk, whether you want to or not, whether you realize it or not but he’s not ready.

He wants nothing more than to lay his aching head on a pillow and sleep until next week. He’s tired; of the situation, of the constant heartache, the lies… all of it and maybe he just wanted to escape it all for a while. He doesn’t _want_ to explain, to go back to it. He just wants peace so he lets the silence grow and fill the room.

“Silence again. Lovely.”

Somehow, it hits him wrong and he’s fuming, pissed off all of a sudden, nothing like the quiet anger he showed his mother and Catherine.

“Danny, what do you want from me, huh?” Steve snaps, giving Danny an irate look.

Danny raises his hands, placating but not quite. “Nothing. Nothing. I don’t want anything from you. I just hate seeing my friend hurting and not being able to do anything about it and I figured that maybe talking about it would make my friend feel better, you know, knowing I’m there, that I care and that I’m here to listen and that yes, I’m worried; concerned about your wellbeing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds,” Danny answers, loud and pissed off.

Great. Danny’s trying to help and he’s being an ass.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m not… dealing with this well.”

“Clearly.”

“I know you wanna help. I just don’t know what it is you can do.”

“Start by telling me what happened and we’ll go from there. Even if it’s just to vent. I’m here to listen. I know I talk a lot but I listen pretty good too. And I’m pretty observant. So, you and Cath… you okay?”

He gives a harsh chuckle. Are they? “Yeah. I… Doris…” he pauses, not knowing how to describe what happened. “She lied to me. Cath. To cover for Doris because she asked her to. To protect me.”

“Oh. Ouch.”

“Pretty much. I… I’m… angry but I know Cath. I don’t know _her._ Cath came clean, told me about this man, from my mother’s past who caught up with her a while back. Christ, Danny, I just wanted my mother back. I thought I had… a family back. I just…”

“You wanted to be happy.”

He closes his eyes tightly, feeling the burn of tears. “Was that so wrong?”

“No, babe, not at all. It’s what we all want. Tell me what happened.”

He tells him about the microfiche, about Mangosta, about Catherine covering for Doris.

 “She’s my _mother,_ Danny! How could she? How could she put us in danger like that?”

“She did what she thought was right, in her screwed up version of the world, I guess.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” he asks finally

“You forgive and move on or you don’t. Your choice babe.”

“It’s not that easy. She’s my mom, Danny.”

“Family’s more than blood, babe. You know that. Hell, you taught me that. Ohana and all.”

He exhales sharply, exhausted, in his heart as much as his body.

“At least, now I understand why Catherine called me to go rescue you and why she sounded so broken up. You, uh…”

“We made up. Sort of. I just… needed some time to clear my head. Think.”

“And drinking half a bottle of Bourbon helped with that?”

He chuckles but there’s no humor in it. “Not so much.”

“Tell me one thing; how did Cath know where to send me to get you if she wasn’t with you?”

“She’s Navy Intel, Danny.”

“Right.”

“I just…”

“I get it. I do. I just worry about my friend sometimes, especially when I get a teary 2 a.m phone call to go rescue you, in a shit part of town.”

“I’m sor-

“Don’t. It’s what Ohana’s for huh?”

Steve gives him a half smile. “Yeah. Thanks, partner.”

“Don’t mention it. Now come on. You owe me breakfast.”

 

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> So? How'd I do? Tell me, let me know?
> 
> Don't have a beta, so let me know if I have goofed.


End file.
